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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021299">The Champion's Admirer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic'>HigherMagic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Forest Sex, Jouster Will Graham, Jousting, M/M, Matchmaker Alana Bloom, Mutual Pining, Renaissance Faires, Semi-Public Sex, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is a Tease</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:15:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's eyes brighten with mirth. He takes another drink of wine, and wets his lips, absently dragging his fingers along the handle of his tankard. "I know your face. You come here often." It's not framed as the classic line, but feels flirtatious nonetheless.</p><p>"I do," Hannibal says, nodding. "It's one of the highlights of my year."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>438</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Champion's Admirer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A purely self-indulgent RenFaire fic that turned into a near-12k monster. Who's surprised, not me. <br/>Also, some of you might recognize a cameo from another favorite character in one of my fics. I couldn't resist :D<br/>Enjoy! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day, as it often is during the late weeks of October, is muggy. It's not currently raining, though the clouds on the horizon are dark, and low. Promising. The fields where the cars park are slick and easy to slip in, and already mud has tracked its way up to the hem of his suit pants as he approaches the gate.</p><p>It's the same as it is every season, every week. The fairgrounds in Maryland are semi-permanent, with a broad wooden entrance marking the front, and walls around the property to set an enclosed perimeter, so one cannot merely wander in.</p><p>It is, and has been for many years, Hannibal's favorite place to go in the month of October.</p><p>There are many reasons for that. There are traveling troupes, suitable for all ages. Players re-enact Shakespeare in the park and there is a pair of sisters who perform tumbling acts with whips and rather inappropriate jokes. The scents of roasting meat and honey-sweet mead, and wine hang over the place like a fog, as well as the rain-wet ground, and people already beginning to sweat, and the specific moisture in the air he has only associated with Maryland and Virginia at this time of year.</p><p>Something electric, and altogether unidentifiable, but that comes to him like a song from his childhood.</p><p>He buys a season pass every year, because there's no sense in pretending he won't come, like clockwork, every Saturday. His patients know better than to try to schedule him for days like this, and his peers have long-since abandoned the notion of a Friday night dinner party, since he has to rise early in order to beat the crowds.</p><p>They have gathered in excess today. It's one of the last weekends of the Faire, and one of the more popular weekends as it's centralized around Shakespeare and his works. The itinerary is packed with plays and re-enactments on the three stages placed around the large fairground.</p><p>He does his usual rounds, perusing the wares. There are shops selling vaguely medieval and renaissance garb, and the usual collection of weaponry salesmen, and staffs and cloaks and leather shops that stink too badly for Hannibal to approach. There are honey vendors, and people selling lovely jeweled trinkets and crystal figurines. He admires the craftsmanship, complimenting the makers' skills, and spends a few moments by the glassblower's stall, watching him do his normal commentated show of creating a vase.</p><p>His favorite shopkeeper is in her usual space, one of the large corner houses with an open front and two floors. The top floor is sectioned off, and the walls of the bottom floor are painted a dark green to resemble the canopy above their heads.</p><p>She smiles at him as he enters, and bows her head, giving him a tiny performative curtsey. "Bella," he greets, and takes her hand, kissing the back of it. Behind her, in the doorway leading to the employee-only section of the shop, her husband lingers and gives Hannibal a stoic nod. Hannibal can't remember ever seeing him smile, except when he's looking at Bella. He is not an unfriendly man, in Hannibal's experience, merely one who prefers to work behind the scenes. "Wonderful to see you again."</p><p>"And you, as well," she replies. Thankfully she doesn't go along too strictly with this 'Verily, my Lord' nonsense that the other players do. It's entertaining, but altogether too stiff for Hannibal to engage in himself beyond the occasional 'Good morrow'. "I have some new books – concentrated on the healing arts, if you're interested."</p><p>Hannibal smiles, and nods to her, taking his leave. He studies the large, fancified leather tomes on the shelves, and the smaller more modern-looking books below. Each of them with a large difference in price, though that has never mattered to him. When he sees something he likes, the method to acquire it is never too daunting.</p><p>There are a few that catch his eye, and he creates a small pile beneath one arm, knowing that Bella will happily keep a hold of the books for him until he is ready to purchase them when it's time to leave.</p><p>He hands them to her, and checks his watch. The first joust will begin soon.</p><p>He takes his leave of the bookshop with another nod and a promise to return later. Bella smiles at him knowingly. She's probably been speaking to Alana.</p><p>Who is, coincidentally and, Hannibal is sure, entirely on purpose, hovering near the back of the benches surrounding the tournament ring. There are two fields in the Maryland fairgrounds, but the smaller one is mostly used for swordsmanship displays and falconry demonstrations.</p><p>The jousts are done here.</p><p>Alana sells bags of candied and sugared nuts, and she turns when Hannibal approaches and gives him a warm, familiar smile. She's been a regular as long as Hannibal has been coming here, at least, and seems to prefer selling her wares near the jousting ring.</p><p>"Good morrow," she says. Hannibal smiles at her, catching how she almost rolls her eyes at herself. "Are you hungry?"</p><p>Hannibal, internally, winces at the idea of eating from one of the bags swinging from her little hanging board. He rarely eats at the Faire, because most of the food is either too greasy, too sugary, or altogether too difficult to eat.</p><p>"No, thank you," he replies. His eyes move to the ring, which is empty for now. Around the edge of it there are costumed men and women setting up the game posts, with rings and lances. Hannibal has seen the show so many times he knows every scene by heart, but he doesn't come to them to be surprised.</p><p>Alana nudges him, a moment later, and when he looks at her, she's grinning brightly. "He's here," she says, though Hannibal didn't say anything first. Then again, she has sharp eyes. "You know, if you want me to, I don't know, introduce you guys, you just have to say so."</p><p>Hannibal's brows rise. "That's not necessary," he says.</p><p>She huffs. "If you insist."</p><p>Her attention is called, then, by a family of people dressed in a costume that is certainly not in keeping with the vaguely medieval theme, and looks more like something from science fiction than anything else. He takes advantage of her distraction to find a place on the benches. There is no covering and very little by way of shade, which will become nonexistent during the later shows, so he takes advantage of the early hour and his premature arrival to find a spot near the entrance of the ring, where there is a façade of a castle, and a balcony where the Royal Court can sit.</p><p>There's no way to peer through the closed doors, to the other side, but this close the smell of horse and hay is much more powerful.</p><p>There is still some time before the first show is due to start. Hannibal entertains himself, for the moment, with people watching. He recognizes one of the men that is helping to set up the arena, though he doesn't know his name. He's young, with short brown hair, the beginnings of sweat and a flush already on his face.</p><p>He's wearing a tan tunic and a thick half-cloak draped around his shoulders, heavily furred to mimic that of a bearskin. Hannibal knows him to be a squire of Hannibal's favorite knight, and is glad to see further evidence of what Alana already said:</p><p>He's here.</p><p>Of course he is. He's never <em>not </em>here, but still Hannibal has no way to confirm that until he sees the man in the flesh. And, yes, if someone like Bedelia or Diane heard that the reason he's always indisposed on Saturdays is because he goes to the Faire to watch a man run around a ring on a horse five times a day, he'd never hear the end of it.</p><p>The stands fill up, and Hannibal ends up sharing his bench with a family of people dressed in casual clothes. The father looks to be on his third cup of mead, red in the face and swaying a little even when he sits, and sandwiches his daughters between him and their mother. Hannibal's head tilts, as he hears the familiar horn blaring, signaling the arrival of the King and the Royal Court.</p><p>They arrive from behind where Hannibal is sitting, flouncing up the wooden steps and settling in the open balcony above the doors. Hannibal leans forward and puts his knees on his elbows, eyes fixed on the tiny slip of space between the doors, as the horn goes quiet.</p><p>"Arise for His Majesty, King Henry!"</p><p>"Hussah!" the enthusiastic crowd echo around Hannibal. He smiles, though he does not join in.</p><p>The speaker, a man who is dressed vaguely as a jester, gestures for the actor playing King Henry the Fifth to rise, and speak. "My gracious subjects!" he bellows. Hannibal presses his lips together; they still have yet to set this place up with a decent stereo system, and it feels like the players' voices get weaker and weaker by the season. "In honor of this most glorious season, and celebrating the great victory at Agincourt, I present to you, this gift of sport!"</p><p>Hannibal straightens. Through the gap in the door he can see shadows moving. The squires setting up the game all run towards the sides of the doors so that they're out of the way when they open, and the knights ride out.</p><p>"Let us meet our champions!" the King declares. The bearskin-clad squire and another, opposite him, reach for the handles of the doors and haul them open.</p><p>The first rider charges out at a gallop, astride a large bay horse. The knight's colors are black and red, and he's wearing an intimidating helm on his head, shaped like the head of a boar. He rides out with his fist raised, to a chorus of raucous cheers.</p><p>Behind him comes a female knight on a white horse, clad in blue and gold. She is wearing no helmet, her hair flying behind her in a tight braid, and she's holding her shield out instead of across her back like the first man – it is a white circle with a rearing blue horse painted on the face of it.</p><p>The third rider trots out, smiling widely at the crowd, clad in green and orange. Unlike his predecessors, he stops to bow to the audience and seems to relish their applause, taking his time to give a lady a rose from where it was tucked into one of his soft leather boots. Hannibal resists the urge to roll his eyes. Barely.</p><p>There is a pause, before the fourth rider comes out. Hannibal's eyes gravitate to the doors. They are opened and angled such that, from where he's sitting, he cannot see the fourth rider. But, childish and ridiculous a notion though it is, he can feel the change in the air. It seems like everything holds it breath, waiting for him to appear.</p><p>He appears, suddenly, spurred by some cue heard only by him. He's riding the same gigantic red stallion Hannibal has always seen him with, the colors on the horse's caparison a lovely swirl of gold, navy blue, and a paler silvery color. Unlike his fellows, his armor is not made of steel plates, but a chainmail tunic with leather bracers on his forearms and leather padding on his shoulders, and a wide belt cinching in his waist.</p><p>Sometimes he wears a helmet, but not today. He's smiling, dimpled and lopsided, and rises up in the stirrups as the crowd cheers for him. He's the fan favorite by far, and it's not difficult to see why; even if he were not by far the most skilled knight at this Faire, he is certainly the most beautiful.</p><p>"My Lords and Ladies, I present to you, your champions!" the King declares, to another scattering of applause. Hannibal watches as the four knights take their positions at each section of the audience. There are places to sit on both of the long sides of the jousting arena, and at the far end, with aisles between each row of benches. "In the black and red, Mason, the fierce Boar Knight!"</p><p>The first rider kicks his horse, making it rear up, as the crowd sitting opposite Hannibal raise their glasses and hands, cheering him on.</p><p>"To those sitting in the presence of the knight in blue and gold, I present to you Margot the Valiant!" Margot grins at her section, lifting her shield as they cheer her on. "And thirdly, Francis, the noble knight representing our Irish brothers across the sea!" Hannibal watches as Francis bows from his saddle, his smile wide. He and the others turn their horses, to trot back towards the gates.</p><p>"Lastly, my Lords and Ladies, you who sit here. Your champion is Will the Righteous!"</p><p>
  <em>Will.</em>
</p><p>Hannibal smiles as, around him, those gathered in his section whoop and holler as Will lifts a hand and waves at them. Will is not always in the same section for his jousts, and Hannibal is glad that he was lucky enough to be in Will's section, this time. For the briefest of moments, so fast it could have been a mere flight of fancy, their eyes meet. Hannibal likes to think Will's smile widens a little, in recognition, before he turns away to rejoin the rest.</p><p>Mason laughs, loudly, calling the attention of the audience. He has already been given a wooden lance by his squire, and gestures towards Will. "Shall we pit the ladies against the men?" he taunts, gesturing to Will's armor. Unlike the rest of the knights, Will does not wear trousers or metal or chainmail, but a kilt-like leather skirt that leaves the skin bare from above his knee to the top edge of his black boots.</p><p>Will rolls his eyes, and takes his lance from his bearskin squire. "Why, Sir Mason, is your mother here? She might be enough to challenge me."</p><p>Hannibal does not laugh, and certainly doesn't guffaw like the man sitting next to him, but amusement gathers in his belly at Will's sharp tongue and warms him more than the sunlight, which is just beginning to peek from the clouds, like a child chancing one last glass of water before bedtime. The storm will come, he is sure. He only hopes it does not break before the last joust of the day.</p><p>Mason glowers at Will, as Margot and Francis laugh at him. Above them, the King speaks again. "Now, my brave knights, you will begin your first challenges. The winner of this bout will carry the lead into the next, and the next, until one of you is named the Foremost man – or woman," he adds, gesturing to Margot with a large grin, "of the Realm."</p><p>Beside him, the Queen rises. "The first show," she begins, holding her hands out for silence, "will be a test of accuracy." Hannibal has heard these speeches so many times that he could recite them from memory. They rarely vary the script.</p><p>He tunes it out, and instead watches as the squires and assistants set up the course. The first one is normally some accuracy test, and then speed, and then a traditional joust. There are hardly variations, especially so late in the season when the players have found their rhythm.</p><p>Will does, however, always find ways to make things interesting.</p><p>The first obstacles are set up; two posts, separating the arena into three pieces down the long side. They are a large 'C' shape, flat to the ground, then stretching high, with a single beam outwards from which hangs a ring.</p><p>"Our champions will ride down the track at full speed and attempt to catch each ring on their lance," the Queen announces. "Then, they will circle the post at the end of the track, and race back, where their squires will toss an additional two rings in the air for them to catch. The knight with the most rings, and completes the course most quickly, wins the challenge."</p><p>Hannibal's lips purse. He rests his elbows on his knees, and laces his fingers below his chin, his eyes fixed attentively on Will as he eyes up the course. He must do this so often it's more muscle memory than anything else, but Will's eyes are narrowed, focused, on both the posts, and the two assistants setting up turning points at the end of the track, and the two squires on each side that are ready to throw rings.</p><p>"Margot and Francis, begin!" the King calls.</p><p>Hannibal straightens, as the first pair lunge forward, lances raised and ready. Francis' horse is larger, but Margot's faster, and she seems more in tune with her animal, and the horse itself seems much less bothered by the encouraging cheers of the crowd.</p><p>They both catch and hook the first rings. Then the second set. Margot rises from her seat as she gallops her horse to the turning point. The white horse is nimble and light on its feet – perhaps some quarter mix, for it turns on a dime, and races back before Francis has reached the point.</p><p>Margot's squire tosses the first ring up, and she catches it to another hearty cheer. Will's squire throws up the second. It arcs, and catches the sunlight, and clips the tip of her lance with a loud metallic sound, but ultimately falls to the ground.</p><p>The crowd around Hannibal sigh in disappointment as Margot settles in her seat and trots her horse up to Will's. She tilts the lance down so the rings can slide to the ground as the squires and assistants go to set up the next round.</p><p>Hannibal watches as Will smiles at Margot, and they nudge their feet together as Will leads his horse forward, in preparation to compete in the second round.</p><p>Francis finishes slower, and hooks the second thrown ring, missing the first. Margot is named the victor by merit of finishing faster.</p><p>"Well done, champions, well done!" the King says.</p><p>The second set of rings are positioned, and the squires take their places. Will's horse shakes his mane out, but is otherwise completely still. Will hefts his lance and waits for the call to charge. Across the arena, Mason's horse is far less calm, and he's laughing raucously and jeering at Will, hyping up his section of the crowd.</p><p>"Mason, Will, begin!" the King calls.</p><p>Will's horse is off like a shot, from a total standstill to a canter in a single stride. He's hooked the first ring before Mason has managed to control his horse enough to go forward, and the beast is far too excited to be a steady ride.</p><p>Will hooks the second ring and sits heavy in the saddle, taking the turn far more slowly than Margot, in a wider arc, to accommodate for the animal's size. He doesn't seem nearly as light-footed, but his stride quickly makes up for the lost speed. Will gets him to a gallop again as Margot's squire throws up the first ring, which he catches. His own squire throws the second, and he catches that one as well. Hannibal joins the crowd in applause as he brings his horse to a halt, a wide, victorious smile on his face. He allows himself a brief moment of smugness, hefting his lance so that his section of the crowd can see that he caught all the rings, and was by far the fastest.</p><p>Hannibal quite likes that look on him.</p><p>Mason charges his beast to a halt a few seconds later. He hooked three of the rings, in total, and given that he was much slower, Will is named the victor, and will face off against Margot for the final bout. Hannibal sits forward again – Margot's animal is smaller, and perhaps faster, and can certainly turn more easily than Will's. It was a close thing, that she didn't get the final ring. If she manages, her horse might be faster than Will's, and she'll win the bout.</p><p>Mason glares at Will, and scoffs when Will grins at him. He hands his lance to his squire and carefully guides his horse towards the main gate, so that he's out of the way while the assistants set up the rings again.</p><p>"Well done, very well done," the King declares. "We will decide the victor of this first challenge now. Margot, please take your place here, on the right track." Margot nods and trots her horse over to the far side, leaving Will where he was. Her squire and Mason's switch sides.</p><p>"Good luck," Mason says with an unpleasant smile. Will's only reaction is to arch a brow, but he doesn't even deign to give Mason an answering look. Margot's horse whinnies quietly as the squires run to their positions, to throw the rings in the air on the way back.</p><p>Will looks to the side, and smiles when Margot meets his eye. She grins back at him, and winks, as Will's red horse shakes his mane out again.</p><p>"Will, Margot, begin!"</p><p>They're both off like a shot, equally matched because of Will's horse's larger stride, but Margot's horse is swift enough to keep up. They hook both their rings with ease, and head for the turning point. Hannibal sits forward, so he can see, breath catching as Will leans wildly to one side and his horse skids, sending a flurry of dirt against the fencing, much to the delight of the children gathered on the other side. While Margot's horse makes her dainty turn, Will and his horse drift like a car on a racetrack, with absolutely no finesse or grace.</p><p>But it's fast, and they right themselves and begin the run back at the same time as Margot.</p><p>The anticipation and excitement of the crowd is a palpable thing, almost deathly silent save for the heavy drum of the horses' hooves and the distant revelry happening outside of the immediate ring of spectators.</p><p>The first rings are thrown up. Margot catches hers, grunting as she has to lean forward in the saddle to hook the ring. Will catches his as well, lifting his lance to make sure it doesn't fall off the end. He slows his horse, just for a pace but it's enough for Margot to take the advantage.</p><p>If she catches the last ring, then she'll have won.</p><p>The last pair of squires throw the rings up. Margot misses, much to the disappointment of the crowd on her side of the audience. Hannibal's eyes are transfixed on Will, as he leans in and angles his lance to catch the last ring. It arcs in the air and seems to hang as though suspended, before settling perfectly at the tip of Will's lance.</p><p>Will grunts, and pulls his horse to a sudden stop, letting the momentum of the ring carry it down his lance to settle at the guard. He smiles, and lifts the lance to show the man playing the King.</p><p>"A fine show!" the man cries, clapping his hands together. Will exhales, shoulders drooping, and hands his lance to the man playing his squire. He pats his horse's sweaty neck gently and trots him over to Margot, so they can nudge their feet together and share a grin. "Let us set up the next course!"</p><p>"So." Hannibal startles at the voice suddenly at his shoulder. He turns, and sees Alana grinning at him. She is notably less laden with candied nuts than before the show. "Are you sure you don't want me to give him your number or something?"</p><p>It's much harder not to roll his eyes this time.</p><p>"I am perfectly capable of approaching him myself, if I choose to," he says coolly.</p><p>"Right, so you're just going to show up every Saturday during the season for the rest of your life and pine from afar? I'll admit, it's very method. You're one heartsick ballad away from blending right in with the rest of us."</p><p>Hannibal sighs. "If I buy something from you, will you leave?" he says, smiling when she gives it some thorough consideration.</p><p>"Maybe," she concedes. "But I'd rather just help sort out this…." She gestures, between Hannibal, and then towards the arena, where Will and the other knights are readying themselves for the second game. "This," she finally lands on.</p><p>Hannibal follows her gesture, watching Will as he leans down to speak with his squire, one hand on his shoulder to keep himself upright.</p><p>He sighs. "If I were to attempt meeting him," he says, and can feel Alana practically start vibrating with excitement. "What would be the best way to do that? And when?"</p><p>She puts both hands over her mouth and makes a sound, trying to maintain her composure. When Hannibal meets her eyes, she exhales slowly, and clears her throat, smiling wide enough that he's sure it hurts her cheeks.</p><p>"After the last joust," she tells him. "He and the other players clean up their horses and hang around, and usually get food delivered, so they're here for a while after. I can make sure Will knows to expect you."</p><p>Hannibal winces internally. "That's rather presumptive," he says.</p><p>"Well, I could just…<em>happen</em> to make sure he's in a certain place at a certain time, if that's easier…?"</p><p>Hannibal presses his lips together, looking away from her, back towards the arena. "That would be agreeable," he says, finally, because he knows she's not going to go away and leave him in peace until he agrees.</p><p>She makes another sound, reminiscent of an excited schoolgirl. "Okay, good. I assume you'll be here for the final show?" He nods. "I'll come find you. Good luck!"</p><p>She leaves him, then, finally and mercifully, to finish selling her wares before restocking at one of the permanent stalls. Hannibal finds his eyes back on Will and the others, as though magnetized. When Will is near, and in sight, Hannibal has eyes for nothing else.</p><p>"The second challenge will be a test of speed," the Queen announces as the squires hurry to set up the next course. They remove the C-shaped posts and roll out bales of hay, positioned at an angle to show a target. There are two posts set up where the C-shaped ones were, these perfectly straight, but lower, so that the squires can reach up and carefully position a single wooden cup. The knights are given short swords, blunted no doubt, but shining. "Our knights will ride down the course, perform a turn, and ride back, knocking the cups from their posts. They will exchange their swords for spears, and lance the bale of hay. Missing the target, or either of the cups, will count against their time."</p><p>Mason laughs. "Child's play!" he crows, with an accompanying roar of approval from his audience.</p><p>"Good, then," Margot says, "you will excel at this one."</p><p>Will laughs brightly, running a gloved hand through his hair. Hannibal thinks, more than anything, the thing that makes Will stand out so much, more than his skill and his good looks, is his charm. His charismatic nature. He looks like he's having <em>fun</em>.</p><p>Hannibal wonders, absently, with a gentle ache in his chest, how much more potent Will's laugh might be if he were the one to cause it.</p><p>"As Will and Margot were the victors, Francis and Mason will take this first bout," the King declares. Will and Margot urge their horses out of the way so the other two can take their positions. Francis adjusts his grip, reins in one hand, sword in the other. Hannibal imagines it's quite difficult to steer, stay on, and wield a weapon all at once.</p><p>Then again, Mason's excitable animal must be far from easy to handle, either.</p><p>"Begin!" the King says.</p><p>Both Mason and Francis urge their horses on, and they take off at a fast gallop down the arena to a chorus of cheers and encouraging yells. Hannibal's neighbor on the bench must favor Mason, for as he takes the corner first, the man whoops and stomps his feet loudly.</p><p>They make their turns and gallop back, each knocking the cups off the posts with ease. Hannibal watches as Mason's horse almost collides with his squire, the man jumping out of the way like this is commonplace. He grabs the animal's reins and hands Mason a spear, and they're off again, but the brief moment caused Mason's horse to startle, rearing up, and cost him just enough time that Francis' spear hits the target first, crowning him the victor.</p><p>Margot smiles, when Mason returns, glowering at Francis. "Child's play?" she teases, making Will and Francis grin.</p><p>"Don't blame your horse this time, Mason," Will says. There is a note of warning in his voice that makes Hannibal tilts his head.</p><p>Mason scoffs, and dismisses them with a wave of his hand. Margot and Will get into position as the squires retrieve the spears and replace the cups. The King calls for them to start, and they are off again. Margot's horse is fast, but Will's so large that his stride more than makes up for it. The turns will be, quite literally, the turning point.</p><p>They run down, and back up, knocking the cups from their posts. Margot's horse, as she approaches her squire, suddenly startles and rears halfway to one side, losing its momentum as it whinnies shrilly. It gives time for Will to take his spear and begin the final run.</p><p>But Margot turns, spear in hand, and throws it with a grunt and a swing so powerful she lifts from her saddle. It hits the bale of hay less than a second before Will manages to spear his, and lands.</p><p>Will laughs, turning around, and raises his fist. "Well thrown, my Lady!" he says. He is a much more gracious loser than Mason. Margot grins at him as her section erupts into cheers. Even Will's section, Hannibal included, must applaud at her skill. Will trots up to her and clasps their forearms.</p><p>His stallion whinnies, shaking out his mane, and lips at the muzzle of Margot's horse as though he, too, is congratulating their win. "Your Majesty," Will calls, looking up to the Royal box. "I happily admit defeat, for this challenge."</p><p>The King and Queen smile brightly. Hannibal wonders, absently, if they are all friends, and drink and laugh together after the jousts. The Royal players are more spread out throughout the Faire, and do not just interact with the jousters, but they seem to look upon Will with familiar affection.</p><p>"Noble to the last," the Queen says, clapping her hands together. "It appears we have a tie, then!"</p><p>"Yes," the King agrees, and lifts his hands. "My noble Lords and Ladies, come back to this arena at high noon for the second of our games, where we will have another show of sport, and the first joust, where one of our knights may take another step to their ultimate victory!"</p><p>The crowd applauds, as the squires open the doors and the knights lead their animals back inside. Hannibal sighs – the early morning show is always a shorter one, and he knows this, but still, he feels bereft. He could have happily watched Will for the entire day.</p><p>His eyes fall to the arena fence, where he sees Alana speaking with Will's bearskin squire. The man looks up at him, and grins knowingly, nodding. Hannibal tilts his head as the man's gaze falls away. They are too distant from him for Hannibal to know what they are saying, but it doesn't take a genius to guess.</p><p>The man nods to Alana, and turns to begin gathering up the equipment so the arena is clear for the next show. Alana turns and grins up at Hannibal, jogging up to meet him. "Randall says that Will's going to be at the Eagle's Landing wine station for lunch, by the honey merchant," she tells him. "It's on the very edge of the fairgrounds. Do you have a map?"</p><p>"I know the layout," Hannibal replies.</p><p>She laughs and rolls her eyes, sheepish. "Of course you do. If you'd like, you can go meet him there."</p><p>Hannibal's brows rise. "Would it not be best to wait until he has no more commitments?" he asks, though he is already rising to his feet.</p><p>Alana shakes her head, and gives him a smile like they're sharing an inside joke. "Will's kind of reclusive," she says. "You won't be bothering him."</p><p>"Those things contradict each other."</p><p>"<em>Trust me</em>, Hannibal," Alana says, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm not the only one who recognizes familiar faces."</p><p>Hannibal's head tilts again. "How well do you know Will, Alana?" he asks curiously.</p><p>"Oh, he and I go way back," she replies, waving her hand. "He's one of my best friends. He actually got me a job here, when he'd been jousting for a while. I've known him for years."</p><p>Hannibal considers this. It warms him to think that he has already passed the friend test, with her, if they are as close as she says – that she approves of his interest and is willing to encourage it. "Do you have any advice, then?" he asks, more for her sake than his own. He has never had any trouble ingratiating himself to strangers, but she would likely appreciate having as large a role as possible in her little matchmaking play.</p><p>She smiles knowingly. "Don't try too hard, and don't lie to him," she advises. "He can see right through that kind of shit."</p><p>Sounds simple enough. Hannibal nods to her and she steps back so that he can get out of the close benches, into the relatively open area. The crowd is milling around, thick in preparation for the next show, which will be some kind of weaponry display. Hannibal is sure he will hear cannon fire soon.</p><p>"Thank you in advance," he says kindly. "I'll do my best not to embarrass you."</p><p>Alana laughs, at that. "I don't think you will," she replies. "But, you know, obligatory 'he's my friend and I'll fight for him' speech."</p><p>Hannibal smiles.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Eagle's Landing is more like a stall than an actual tavern. The line is long leading up to the bar, where two women are pouring drinks and laughing with the customers, a third one animatedly discussing the various wines they offer. There is no place inside for people to go and sit, but there are benches lining the outside, and a view of one of the stages through the trees. At the moment Hannibal arrives, there is a magic show being performed.</p><p>Will is watching it, nursing a large tankard of what looks like wine, and a bottle of water. There is a small paper tray in front of him, the kind that holds thick steak fries, and the remnants of ketchup. The smell is sharp, but not unpleasant. Amongst it lingers the scent of horse, and sweat, and mud. Scents he has closely associated with Will since he first saw him.</p><p>Hannibal approaches, and Will looks up, squinting until Hannibal's silhouette casts him in shadow. His eyes flash with recognition. "May I join you?" Hannibal asks.</p><p>Will presses his lips together, and nods, gesturing to the bench opposite his table. All of it is made of wooden stumps, clean and waxed to prevent rot and decay, but retaining the natural look, as though they are merely travelers taking advantage of a fallen oak. Hannibal settles with a sigh, and sets his jacket next to him on his bench.</p><p>"No food or drink?" Will asks, arching a brow as he takes another sip of his wine.</p><p>"No," Hannibal replies, shaking his head. "I learned the hard way that so much grease doesn't agree with me."</p><p>Will laughs. "Yeah, it can be a lot for a sensitive stomach." He tilts his head, absently rubbing a hand through his hair. He has taken off his gloves, they sit beside the empty tray, but he's still wearing the rest of his garb. His cheeks are flushed from the growing heat, hair fluffy from the humidity. "Did you like the show?"</p><p>"I did," Hannibal replies, nodding. He holds out his hand. "Hannibal Lecter."</p><p>Will takes it, and shakes with a smile. "Will Graham," he replies, "but I guess you already knew my name."</p><p>"It could have been a stage name," Hannibal says, ignoring the fact that Alana has referred to him as such.</p><p>Will's eyes brighten with mirth. "Yours sounds more like a stage name," he teases good-naturedly. He takes another drink of wine, and wets his lips, absently dragging his fingers along the handle of his tankard. "I know your face. You come here often."</p><p>It's not framed as the classic line, but feels flirtatious nonetheless.</p><p>"I do," Hannibal says, nodding. "It's one of the highlights of my year."</p><p>"It's a lot of fun," Will agrees. "I imagine it can get repetitive, though."</p><p>"Does it for you?" Hannibal asks.</p><p>"Nah." Will grins, lopsided, showing the dimples in his cheeks and the edge of his teeth. "I could do this forever."</p><p>"You're very skilled," Hannibal says, resting his elbows on the table. One complaint he does have for the Faire; the lack of lumbar support is atrocious. But he supposes not everyone can dine like a King. Will's cheeks darken slightly at the praise. "As are your fellow players."</p><p>Will laughs. "Gotta be able to put on a decent show," he replies. He leans forward as well, pushing the tray and gloves to one side so he can mimic Hannibal's position. "What do you do for a living, Mister Lecter?"</p><p>"Doctor," Hannibal says, both a correction and an answer.</p><p>"A <em>doctor</em>," Will echoes, in a way that's delightfully intrigued. "What flavor?"</p><p>"A surgeon, for a while. Now, a psychiatrist."</p><p>Will's lips twitch into another teasing smile. "You're not going to psychoanalyze me, are you?" he asks. There's a very subtle edge in his voice, a thread just begging to be picked at. Hannibal resists the urge to, though it's difficult. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, but having Will's full attention on him is affecting him more powerfully than he anticipated.</p><p>"Not for free," he says instead, making Will laugh. Oh, he does have a lovely laugh. It's chest-deep and makes his shoulders shake, his smile so wide.</p><p>Will's hand goes to his drink again, though he doesn't partake. He wets his lips and curls his fingers around the edge of the handle, stroking it slowly. Rather suggestively, in Hannibal's mind, but that might be wishful thinking.</p><p>It's strange. Sitting here, with Will, it feels like they have met before. That they have been friends for a long time. Will's presence is calming – that charisma, it must be, meeting Hannibal's own. Two stray dogs who are content to share warmth for the night.</p><p>"I suppose I shouldn't play coy," Hannibal says, remembering Alana's words. "Forgive me if I'm intruding on your alone time."</p><p>"If I wanted to be truly alone, I'd be with Red," Will replies with a shrug. That must be his horse – it's a fitting name, considering his coloration. "But no, there's no use playing coy. Randall told me to expect a visitor." His eyes darken, and he rakes Hannibal up and down. "I didn't know who, though. Must be my lucky day."</p><p>Hannibal smiles, dipping his gaze to Will's hands. They're large, and callused, undoubtedly from reins and saddles and whatever other labor comes with tending to a horse. "I'll admit, Will, a large part of the allure of the Faire for me, for quite some time, has been the chance to watch you perform."</p><p>"I aim to please," Will drawls. There's an accent there – Southern, half-buried. Hannibal wonders what he might do to coax it out. Will's head tilts. "In what capacity is this allure?"</p><p>Hannibal's smile widens, and he meets Will's eyes. "Allow me some decorum," he says.</p><p>Will laughs again, and finally has mercy on his cup, taking another drink. Hannibal wonders if he gets more and more inebriated throughout the day, or if he is drinking because he knew he would have company. It presents an interesting question. Will's skill certainly doesn't wane throughout the day – if he does regularly imbibe, then it has no effect on his performance.</p><p>"Alana was right about you," Will says, setting his tankard back down. Hannibal blinks in surprise. "You're very careful. Unwilling to impose unless you're sure you'll be received well. You always so tight-laced?"</p><p>"Alana has spoken to you about me?" Hannibal asks.</p><p>"She's mentioned you a few times. I asked first," Will says, with another lopsided smile. His eyes are dark as the storm clouds gathering above them, threatening rain. He's so beautiful, even more so up close, even more so when he's a little tipsy and flirty and shines like a fishermen's hook in the river. "Like I said, I've seen you around before."</p><p>"Do repeat visitors often catch your eye? I can't be the first."</p><p>Will's eyes flash. "Peacock," he challenges, and grins. Hannibal smiles back, feeling his cheeks heat at being seen so easily. Alana wasn't lying about Will's sharp eyes, at least. It's pleasing to think that Alana befriended him because of Will's regard.</p><p>The magic show ends, on the stage, and Will sighs. "I have to go get ready for the next show," he says, and sounds apologetic, pushing his tankard away half-drunk. He takes the bottle of water, and his gloves, tucking both into his belt. Hannibal sighs inwardly, mourning that their conversation was cut short.</p><p>He is surprised, then, to see Will circle the table, and gently touch Hannibal's chin, making him lift his head. With the light behind him, he looks truly like one of those legendary knights of old, and his scent, this close with a touch of mint and lemongrass, fills Hannibal's mouth. Will's fingers are gentle, and warm on his face.</p><p>"I suppose I'll see you there?" he asks.</p><p>"Of course," Hannibal breathes. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."</p><p>Will smiles, biting his lower lip. "Flattering," he murmurs. His head tilts. "When it's done, come talk to Randall. I'll tell him you're coming and to let you in the back. If you're interested in a more…private performance."</p><p>Hannibal's breath catches, and Will's smile widens.</p><p>He leans in, bracing himself on the table. His arm, still with the leather bracer but bare up to the sleeve, is tan and corded with muscle. It's exactly the kind of open canvas Hannibal wants to sink his teeth into. Will's fingers tighten on his chin.</p><p>"When I win," he whispers, confident and fine, "I'll show you how I like to celebrate."</p><p>With that, he leaves, striding away like a prowling wolf. Hannibal stares after him, his breath caught, hooked on Will. He admires the man's broad shoulders beneath his tunic, the sway of leather around his hips and thighs, the way he carries himself, regal, <em>noble</em>. Hannibal's mouth is flooded with saliva, heart thrumming with anticipation.</p><p>He clears away Will's leftovers and pours out the wine, and hurries back to the arena to make sure he has the best seat in the house.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hannibal manages to sit closer, this time, since he has no reason to continue pretending he's not going to vie for Will's attention. He's close to the wall again, two benches from the front. He can see the bearskin squire, whom he now knows as Randall, working with the other assistants to set up a line down the center of the ring for a joust. There is a collection of lances and swords next to the wall.</p><p>He breathes in. Now that he has gotten a true taste of Will's scent, he can pick him out easily amongst the white noise of the rest. He can smell Will lingering on Randall, the same way as family – perhaps they are related, or simply close enough to mimic that kind of bond.</p><p>He smells Alana approaching him before she comes into view, the scent of her candied nuts and her perfume bursting fresh as he turns and smiles at her. She grins, and perches down beside him, careful with her tray.</p><p>"How'd it go?" she asks, practically vibrating with excitement.</p><p>"I'm surprised Will didn't tell you," Hannibal replies with a smile. "Apparently it's not the first time I've come up in conversation."</p><p>Alana, at least, has the decency to blush. "He <em>asked</em>," she says.</p><p>"Yes, I know. That's rather flattering."</p><p>She rolls her eyes and grins. "God, you're perfect for each other," she mutters. Hannibal's chest goes warm, at that – she knows Will better than anyone, he supposes, and her favor and support will go a long way in earning Will's affection. "But you didn't answer my question."</p><p>"I think it went rather well, yes," Hannibal replies with a nod. "I don't think I scared him off, at the very least."</p><p>She laughs. "Will doesn't scare easy," she says with a knowing shake of her head.</p><p>The noon joust is generally the most popular. People who arrived late will come to see it first, and it's not late enough in the day for the heavy food and the heat to compel people to seek the shade. Despite the storm clouds, the air is almost uncomfortably warm, and if the sun were to peak out it would likely make the heat worse on the spectators.</p><p>Alana rises, after a moment, so that other patrons can sit and she can go sell her stock. "Do you have almonds?" Hannibal asks.</p><p>Alana blinks at him, surprised, and she nods. "Yeah! Normal sugared ones, and then I have some cinnamon sugar, and some maple nut clusters that have them."</p><p>"I'll take a normal pack, please," Hannibal says, handing her over a ten-dollar bill as she gives him a bag. "Keep the change."</p><p>"You know, I normally charge more for a matchmaking fee," she teases.</p><p>Hannibal smiles. "If all goes well, then perhaps you'll allow me to invite you to a proper dinner. I've been told I'm quite good."</p><p>"That means you're fantastic and trying to be humble," she says. "But that sounds lovely. Good luck, Hannibal."</p><p>She leaves Hannibal alone, then, to watch the squires finishing with the setup. The joust itself is a plain affair, a show lacking in additional gear and posts for smaller entertainment. For the sake of the horses, Hannibal assumes, so that they don't get too warm or tired during the hottest part of the day.</p><p>He unwinds the little plastic tie and grazes on the nuts. They are actually quite good, he thinks, and he can understand why they're popular. A little overly sweet for his tastes, but not bad at all.</p><p>He looks up, as he hears the horn blaring, and the Royal assembly returns to their stations. "My noble Lords and Ladies!" the man playing the King cries. "Welcome to our second joust of the day. Already our brave knights have met each other for a test of accuracy and speed. Now, we will have a show of their strength and skill in our first joust!"</p><p>"Hussah!" the crowd choruses, much livelier than the first. Hannibal smiles to himself, watching the squires run back down towards the doors.</p><p>"Let us meet our champions!" the King says, and introduces them the same way they did before. Francis rides out first, claiming the far-left corner, Mason the far right. Margot trots out and looks to the side, and sees Randall standing by the fence in Hannibal's section. A moment later, she turns her horse the other way, and Hannibal sees Randall grinning.</p><p>His brows lift, wondering if Randall is serving as an unofficial marker for Will.</p><p>Will rides out last, as he did before, and guides his horse to stand by Randall. He looks out to the crowd, undoubtedly searching, and he smiles widely when Hannibal meets his eyes. He dips his head in a nod, which Hannibal returns, another excited flutter in his chest to see Will acknowledge him so openly.</p><p>"Sir Will and Lady Margot were the winners of our last test of skill," the Queen says. "As a result, Margot will face against Sir Mason for the first challenge, and Will against Sir Francis. Lady Margot, Sir Mason, please take up your lance and ready yourself for the first bout."</p><p>They nod, taking lances from their squires. Since they are already at opposing ends of the field, no one needs to reposition themselves as they take up their posts at each end, on either side of the line.</p><p>"There will be three runs," the King says, explaining the rules to those who don't know. Margot exchanges her larger shield for a smaller square jousting shield, complete with her blue and white colors, while Mason takes up a black and red one. "A touch counts as a victory, as does a broken lance. Whichever knight does the most damage in the three runs will be declared the victor.</p><p>Begin when you are ready, my knights!"</p><p>The King sits, and Mason digs his heels into his horse's flanks with a loud cry, running for Margot. Margot rushes to meet him, both of them aiming their lances over their horse's pommels, towards the other's shield. They both hit, Mason's lance splintering down to the handle while only the tip of Margot's breaks off.</p><p>"A fine hit, a point to Sir Mason!" the Queen says.</p><p>Mason grins, pulling his horse up short and exchanging his lance for a new one, as Margot does the same on her end. They run at each other again, and while both of them touch the other, neither lance breaks.</p><p>On the third pass, Mason's horse shows its uppity nature again, rearing wildly as he tries to get it to run. Margot, seeing this, lifts her lance and completes the run without aiming for him at all. Hannibal looks up to see the King frowning.</p><p>"Another pass, my knights?" he asks.</p><p>Margot bites her lower lip, frowning at Mason as he continues to try getting his horse under control. The animal kicks out wildly behind him, trying to buck, the man cursing and dropping his lance as he attempts to rein the animal in.</p><p>"I think, Your Majesty, that we would do well to call it short," she replies. "I will cede defeat."</p><p>"Perhaps you will run against Sir Francis, then, for a new ranking," the King says. "Assuming there is no protest from Sir Will."</p><p>"None," Will says. His stallion, Red, stands perfectly still, looking rather unbothered by the whole proceedings. Hannibal smiles to himself as the horse shakes his mane and blusters, weight resting on three legs.</p><p>"Very well. Sir Mason, you have won this bout."</p><p>Mason nods, lifting up a hand in thanks. He must, eventually, dismount the horse entirely, and leads it back through the doors and out of sight. Hannibal can still hear the animal protesting, and wonders if perhaps it was injured somehow during the run. That would be unfortunate, and he sincerely hopes it is not the case, especially when he catches Will gazing after them, a concerned crease in his brow.</p><p>"Lady Margot, Sir Francis, take up your stations," the King commands, and they do so. The bout is a win for Francis, for while Margot's aim is good, she is not capable of using the same force as Francis, on his larger steed, and his lances break more thoroughly than hers do, earning him the extra points.</p><p>Then, it is time for Will to joust. Hannibal sits forward, taking in every detail he can. The way Will and Red move together is like a dance, now – clearly Will's horse shares his enthusiasm for this particular game. When he sees the lance, he tosses his head and lets out a shrill whinny, that makes Will laugh, reins loose as he pats the stallion's broad neck.</p><p>In fact, Will barely seems to guide Red at all. Hannibal doesn't know enough about horsemanship as a whole to know if that is the case, or if there are subtle cues he's missing, but Red sidesteps up to the line easily, and stands at the ready as Will adjusts his lance and shield. He holds the lance in his shield-bearing hand, pushing his hair back from his face. Francis has put a helmet on, but Will remains without. Hannibal has never felt concern before, but now he cannot help go tense at the idea of Will getting hit in the face. Those lances at such speeds could do a lot of damage, and Will isn't wearing any particularly strong protective gear.</p><p>Francis lifts his lance, showing that he's ready, and Will knots his fist in Red's reins, shifting the lance back into the proper position. "Begin!" the King calls. Red leaps forward immediately when Will clicks his tongue, straight into a gallop, as Francis rushes from his end.</p><p>Their lances meet each other's shields, both of them splintering down to the hilt with a loud <em>crack</em> and spray of wooden shards. Will laughs, tossing the broken lance down and taking up a second, circling the end of the line to prepare to race back. They run at each other again, and both lances shatter.</p><p>"Powerful blows!" the Queen says, and laughs. "We might have a draw."</p><p>Will arches a brow, and for a moment, slows his horse, and meets Hannibal's eyes. His smile is wide, and promising, and Hannibal remembers what Will said. No, he thinks, Will is going to win. He has more incentive than just applause, now.</p><p>They begin the final run. Hannibal barely catches it, but he sees when Will digs his heels in, spurring Red to make a single leap, which changes the angle of the charging lances. Will's lance crushes against Francis' shield with such a powerful blow that the other man lists wildly, pulling at his horse's reins to try and keep steady. The animal is almost at a standstill, when he eventually goes limp and performs a stuntman's fall to the ground. His lance is whole, Will's shattered.</p><p>Will won. Of course he did.</p><p>Hannibal smiles and joins in with the applause as Will lifts the broken lance high, grinning in victory. He hands it to Randall and trots his horse over to Francis, leaning down to help him to his feet. "Are you alright, my friend?" he asks.</p><p>Francis peels off his helmet and grins up at Will. He's sweating, and flushed, and claps Will's forearm in a friendly gesture. "I must learn to keep my seat better," he says, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd.</p><p>"You won't fall a second time," Will replies, still smiling.</p><p>The King and Queen stand. "Sir Will the Righteous, champion of this bout!" the Queen says with a wide smile. "Well done, Sir. You will lead the next joust as the clear victor."</p><p>Will bows his head to her, and holds Francis' horse steady as he climbs back up. The squires are running around the field, picking up the broken lances and the shards so the horses don't step on them, as Will, Francis, and Margot trot their animals back towards the Royal box.</p><p>Red shakes out his mane, champing lazily at the bit as Will pets his shoulder. Will meets Hannibal's eyes, and winks at him.</p><p>"Our next joust will be at three," the King says. "My noble Lords and Ladies, I do hope you join us for the next bout. In the meantime, farewell, and enjoy the Faire!"</p><p>"Hussah!"</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hannibal waits until the ring and audience is relatively clear, before he stands, and makes his way down to Randall. The man is still working, clearing up the equipment, so he doesn't mind waiting. He doesn't want to intrude, after all.</p><p>Randall looks up, after a moment, and approaches him. "You Hannibal?" he asks. Hannibal nods, and Randall grins at him, and hops the fence. "Nice to meet you. Will told me he was expecting you. You ready?"</p><p>"As I'll ever be," Hannibal replies.</p><p>Randall laughs, at that, and walks towards a small door within the wooden façade, marked with a fancy 'Employees Only' sign in classic medieval script. He pushes it open, revealing a small ring around the back where Hannibal assumes the performers gather in preparation to ride out. There is a line of lean-tos, were Hannibal sees the four horses, as well as a smaller, lithe little Palomino that he doesn't recognize.</p><p>He spies Will immediately. He's untacking Red, putting the horse's saddle and bridle on a stand and brushing him down, speaking with Francis and Margot as they do the same with their animals. Mason is nowhere in sight, but his horse is there, munching on a bale of haylage and looking quite content to be left alone.</p><p>"Will!" Randall calls, walking over with Hannibal in tow.</p><p>Will turns to him, and smiles widely. He looks even more beautiful like this, flushed and victorious, a dark stain of red all the way down his neck and on his cheeks. His hair, flattened with sweat, makes his eyes look even brighter. "Hey," he says softly, his voice affectionate. "Give me a minute?"</p><p>"Of course, take your time," Hannibal replies. Margot is watching him curiously, but with a knowing smile. Not for the first time, Hannibal wonders if this is something Will does rather often. He implied that he notices repeat visitors, and if he makes this same offer with all the ones that catch his eye, well….</p><p>Hannibal doesn't judge, but he likes to think that that's not the case. If it is, he will definitely be sure that he is not forgettable.</p><p>He watches Will brush Red down, feed the horse a mint, and then tie him loosely in his stall so he can't go wandering off. Red drinks noisily from his water bucket as Will finishes clearing away his gear. The scent of horse is powerful, here, clinging like dust on wet skin – but it's not entirely unpleasant, considering that it is part of Will's scent, and Hannibal can associate the two so closely.</p><p>Will bends down and splashes water from Red's bucket on his face, before he straightens with a sigh. The water bottle he had been drinking sits on the edge of the stall, and he takes it and finishes it, throwing the empty bottle away.</p><p>Then, he fixes Hannibal with a bright smile. "Shall we?"</p><p>"After you," Hannibal says, curious where Will might intend to take him.</p><p>Will's eyes darken, and he nods, brushing past Hannibal with an inviting hand on his flank, before he lets go and heads towards the back of the area. It feels like Will is guiding him, easily as his horse, as Hannibal follows him to the back. It's walled off to prevent anyone who shouldn't be here from wandering in, but there is a second door, locked from the inside. Will unlocks it and steps through.</p><p>It opens into the trees surrounding the fairgrounds. Barely visible is the parking lot, and there is another collection of small wooden buildings, all with locks, that Hannibal assumes is where the players store their costumes or go to rest between performances.</p><p>Will leads him past all those, until they are also out of sight. There's no one else around, it's implicitly far more private. Hannibal's heart begins to thrum with anticipation.</p><p>He steps up close to Will, when Will turns, and finds that there is a small abrasion on his cheek that wasn't there before, pink and almost invisible amidst the flush. "From the lance?" he guesses, nodding to it.</p><p>Will hums. "Hazard of the job," he replies with a shrug. "Almost lost my eye more times than I can count."</p><p>"Surely a helmet would be advisable, then," Hannibal says, unable to keep the concerned, scolding tone from his voice.</p><p>Will blinks at him, and his smile widens, growing lopsided again. He leans back against a tree, where Hannibal has – quite accidentally – crowded him. "You worried about me, Doctor Lecter?" he purrs, lifting his chin, just begging for Hannibal to touch it, to kiss it, to drink the soft, sweet noises Hannibal is sure Will can make.</p><p>"A healthy concern, I should think," Hannibal replies. "But made worse, given my regard for you."</p><p>Will arches a brow, but Hannibal can tell the words please him. "You don't even know me," he says, chin lifting a fraction further. Hannibal can't resist him, then; he hangs his jacket over a low branch and takes a step even closer, fingers grazing lightly over the tendon in Will's neck. Will sucks in a breath, pupils flaring wide, teeth sinking into his lower lip.</p><p>"I'd like to," Hannibal confesses. When Will doesn't push him away, he leans in, lips barely grazing the corner of Will's mouth. Will shivers violently, his hands sliding into place on Hannibal's hips, his lashes going low. "Every inch. Every facet."</p><p>"You're a Goddamn charmer, aren't you?" Will says, voice weak and rough. Hannibal smiles, and slides his hand into Will's hair, knotting his fingers in those lovely curls as he has thought about doing so often.</p><p>"Only for those I want to charm."</p><p>Will groans, baring his teeth. "God, fuckin' -. Come here." He's drawling again, that accent pulled out. He tilts his head and yanks Hannibal close to him, kissing him like he's been dying to do it for days. Will kisses like a man who has just returned home from a war, so happy to be alive, so desperate to run back into the arms of his beloved.</p><p>Hannibal keeps one hand in Will's hair, the other falling to Will's bared thigh, sliding up beneath the leather skirt. Will shivers, spreading his legs immediately, nails tight in Hannibal's lower back as he brings them close enough to grind together.</p><p>It's rough and far too warm, and Hannibal's knuckles graze and grow tender against the bark of the tree. But he won't stop for Hell or high water, not when he finally has Will like this, beautiful and breathless and so responsive to every touch. Beneath his skirt, Hannibal touches the crease of his sweaty thigh and Will jerks, moaning helplessly into the kiss.</p><p>Will is hard, cock thick and warm against Hannibal's own growing arousal. He gasps when Hannibal lets him have air, one hand sliding up and fisting in the back of Hannibal's shirt, the other looped into the pocket of his suit pants to keep the friction going.</p><p>"You either need to get on your knees or let me get on mine," Will growls, after another long moment of frantic rutting. Hannibal sucks in a breath, his nose in Will's neck. Will's pulse is flying, his scent so sweet and heavy, it affects Hannibal more than wine.</p><p>He pulls back and kisses Will, slides both hands to Will's hips, and sinks to his knees.</p><p>"Oh, <em>fuck</em>," Will whispers, barely a breath as his hands go to Hannibal's hair. Hannibal smiles at him, pushing the leather pieces to one side so he can mouth at Will's cock through his underwear. He stinks of sweat, here, the heavy salt of a working man. And leather, and horse. Precum, already forming.</p><p>Hannibal wraps his fingers in Will's underwear and pulls it down to his knees. Will's cock, thick and red and dripping, brushes against Hannibal's cheek. Hannibal closes his eyes, tilts his head, and sucks the head into his mouth.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," Will hisses, nails tightening on Hannibal's scalp. He doesn't push Hannibal's head down, makes no move to guide or force him. But Hannibal hardly needs the encouragement. The thick weight of Will on his tongue is divine, a teaser for the main course. Hannibal sucks hard enough that his cheeks hollow, jaw aching as he slides down Will's cock, past the initial spasm of his throat, until his nose is buried in Will's pubic hair and Will twitches in his mouth. "Jesus Christ, Hannibal, <em>fuck</em>."</p><p>Will paws at him, directionless, desperate. Hannibal pulls back, tongue laving along the vein, the base of Will's cockhead just to hear how he moans. One of Will's hands flies to his mouth so he can keep himself quiet, staring at Hannibal as Hannibal tongues at the head of his cock, indulging himself in learning the taste of Will – a little more bitter than he likes, but that can be blamed on Will's diet.</p><p>He thinks of feeding Will, of having the man at his dinner table every night, how he might grow sweeter, and chokes on a moan as he pushes back down. He's languid, he knows he's good at this, but it's always gratifying to see how much it affects a man, how helpless and lovely they are when they are overwhelmed.</p><p>He reaches for Will and takes Will's hand, still in his hair. Encourages him to twist his grip, to tighten, to guide. Will gets the idea immediately, groaning against his palm as he rolls his hips, shuddering as Hannibal's throat tenses and parts around him. He does it again, and Hannibal lets his jaw go lax, saliva pooling in his mouth and leaking out the sides.</p><p>He gets the impression that Will likes things a little messy.</p><p>Will moans loudly, dropping his other hand, panting as he thumbs at the saliva leaking from Hannibal's mouth. He pets Hannibal's lower lip, cradles his chin, his other hand still powerfully gripping Hannibal's hair as he pushes from the tree, standing upright so he can thrust more deliberately. Hannibal cups the backs of his thighs, urging him on. The wet ground seeps in through his knees, the damp air clings to his flushed skin; this is wild and relentless, just like Will.</p><p>Will whines, baring his teeth, eyes tightening at the corners. "Can I come in your mouth?" he rasps. Hannibal looks up at him, and merely sucks harder. "Fuck, yeah, okay – okay…." Will grips his shoulder, releasing his chin. His thrusts grow slow, but deep, and he gasps as he realizes that, despite his best efforts, Hannibal has remarkable control over his gag reflex, and can take him with ease.</p><p>Hannibal's jaw aches, his lips tender and tingling. He runs his tongue over Will's cockhead whenever he withdraws, pushes with it so Will grazes the roof of his mouth, adding to the sensation whenever Will fucks in. Will closes his eyes, head bowing forward, sweat dripping from his hair and soaking his clothes.</p><p>"I'm gonna -." Hannibal moans in encouragement, choking on Will as Will pushes in deep, cock twitching. Will cries out weakly, thighs trembling. He leans on Hannibal's shoulder and bows forward, pawing at the back of his neck.</p><p>He pulls back so just the head of his cock is in Hannibal's mouth, and whines sweetly as he starts to come. Hannibal swallows it all, petting Will's trembling thighs and up his tense stomach, down to his knees, as Will floods his mouth and snarls through his release.</p><p>Hannibal runs his tongue through the slit as Will finishes, making him flinch, and he tightens his lips around Will's cockhead, ravenously eking out every last drop. Will goes lax, heavy on him, exhale little more than a shaky laugh as he softens in Hannibal's mouth.</p><p>Hannibal lets him slip free, nuzzling Will's shaft and thighs as Will catches his breath. Will's hands gentle on him, a few moments later, and Hannibal pulls his underwear back up into place, careful to pull all the pieces of his skirt free so they don't get caught.</p><p>"Holy Hell," Will whispers, grinning down at Hannibal as he straightens. Hannibal smiles, and lets Will help him to his feet. Will kisses him deeply, still panting. "You wanna fuck me?"</p><p>"I can't imagine it will be comfortable to perform, if I do," Hannibal tells him, which isn't a 'No'.</p><p>Will's eyes flash, his cheeks flushing guiltily. "I -. Yeah, it won't," he admits. "But I'm not just going to leave you hanging."</p><p>Hannibal's smile widens, and he leans in to kiss the flush on Will's cheek, breathing him in. "Perhaps, if you win, you'll allow me to take you to dinner," he says. Will shivers, lashes going low as Hannibal runs his hands over Will's bare thighs. "Then I can show you how <em>I </em>like to celebrate."</p><p>Will sucks in a breath, eyes wide and dark. He swallows audibly, and runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he whispers. "Okay. That –. That works. Give me your phone; I'll put my number in."</p><p>Hannibal nods, and reaches into his pocket, handing Will his phone. Will types in his phone number and sends himself a text. Hannibal doesn't hear any chime, but he doesn't assume Will carries his phone with him while he's performing. He hands it back with a shy smile, biting his lower lip as Hannibal pockets the phone, and steps back.</p><p>Will's eyes rake him up and down, and he shivers again, swallowing harshly. "Hannibal," he murmurs. "If you wanted to…hang around, behind the scenes and whatever, that'd be…. I'd like that."</p><p>Hannibal smiles. "You needn't be so coy, Will," he teases. "You have captured my attention from the moment I saw you. I'd love the chance to spend more time with you."</p><p>Will blushes, grinning. He runs both hands through his sweaty hair, rolls his shoulders, clears his throat. He steps away from the tree and runs his fingers down Hannibal's arm, until he can lace them. Hannibal cups his face and kisses him deeply, earning another shiver, another sweet whine as Will arches against him, as though his desires are still unmet.</p><p>Hannibal will see every one of them sated. He promises so, to Will's mouth, to his jaw, to his warm neck.</p><p>Will smiles, squeezing his fingers, and sighs. "Shall we return to the court, Doctor Lecter?" he asks, in a quiet voice, his eyes bright.</p><p>Hannibal cannot help kissing him again, as above them, the storm clouds finally break, drizzling warm rain. "After you."</p>
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